As the Cog Turns Read online

  “You going to open the drone or stand around yapping all day?” she snapped.

  He ran his hands over its surface. “I just need the right tool to pry open the stubborn crack. Once I ease a rod in there, and give it a wiggle, it should loosen up.”

  Thankfully he bent over the drone to work at it rather than glance at her because he might have seen her biting her lip as everything he said took on a double meaning. What ailed her that she suddenly thought every word out of his mouth was meant to be erotic?

  This was Wulff. A boy she’d known since she took her first step, using his sitting frame to haul herself up. The young man she’d tripped on their first mission as a crew so she could win the first celebratory drink. The male who’d featured in too many fantasies, no matter how many opposites she took to bed.

  “Almost got it,” he grunted as he heaved the pry bar. The hatch in the drone’s frame gave suddenly, and Wulff cried out, “Frukx.

  “What is it?” She moved closer and noted his thumb bleeding. Just a tiny nick in the skin. “That’s not a wound,” she scoffed.

  “Does this mean you won’t nurse me back to health?” He held it out, and she saw the tip form another red bead.

  “If you die of your obviously grievous wound, then we only have to divide the treasure three ways.”

  “That’s cold, Ursy.”

  “That’s business, Woofy.” She noted how the corner of his lip tightened at the name. She knew he hated it. It helped her keep him at a distance.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got.” He upended the drone and tilted it, shaking out a small metal chunk.

  “Is the piece wedged?” Ursy ignored the tiny piece on the table and peered over his shoulder into the gaping belly of the drone.

  “I don’t hear anything else rattling in there. He held the drone up and peeked inside.

  “Let me see.” She grabbed the drone from his grasp and stuck her hand inside the hatch. Groping around, she found nothing but smooth surface. “I wonder if someone got to it before we did.”

  “Maybe. Or could be this is the gear.” Wulff held it pinched between a thumb and forefinger. Not the injured one, thank the Mecha gods. All it took was an open wound and fresh blood to bond any piece made of the latmevilium metal. A weird trait that they only discovered by accident when the mighty explorer Jool Ius’verrn spilled blood in the first temple of the gods.

  She peered at the tiniest cog she’d ever seen. So small she doubted it was worth the cost of repairing her ship. “Doesn’t look very important.”

  “Might be a connecting piece,” Wulff mused aloud, turning it around.

  When they’d first beheld the God Gear suspended in mid air, a golden and silver creation of beauty with all its mechanical parts—and promise—they’d assumed it would only work if fully assembled. But the first piece they found—on some backwards planet called Earth—soon made them realize that, after it bonded to a human, the pieces of the God Gear could work independently of each other. Problem was they had no way of knowing what each piece did.

  Good thing collectors didn’t care. All they wanted was the gears. And if the piece proved worthless when it came to enhancing the body, then the metal could be reshaped by a Tinqqer.

  “Where should we hide it in case security decides to get nosy at the market?” he asked.

  There he was using that word “we” again. Despite belonging to the crew, Ursy didn’t usually subscribe to the whole team effort. At times, she wondered why she stuck around. Perhaps out of loyalty to her brother. Or something else?

  She glanced at Wulff, who flipped the cog in the air and watched it spin. They both did, so pretty and shiny. The metal called to her. They lunged for the piece at the same time, colliding into each other, her bouncing off his chest and reeling. He reached out a hand to steady her, drawing her hard against him.

  She gasped and stared up at him, a strange moment fraught with—

  The cog fell into the crevice formed by her breasts currently mashed against his chest.

  His gaze dropped and stared, long enough that she began to pulse between her thighs.

  “Don’t move,” he grumbled when she would have shifted away.

  Was he as aroused as her by their proximity?

  “We don’t want it falling through the grate.” He dashed her wondering with his statement.

  They stood over the one spot in the floor where the cog could get lost.

  “We can’t stay glued forever.” Although give her a few more ticks of the cog and she might not need her fingers later on.

  “I’ll try and grab it.”

  Before she could reply, he inserted his hand between their bodies, starting low at her belly and sliding it up under her loose top. She’d not had a chance to change into her more constricting jumpsuit since she woke.

  Which meant his hand skimmed over her flesh, leaving behind awareness, and she fought not to shiver. His fingers reached the underside of her cleavage and paused. His breathing appeared unsteady, making her wonder if the air ratio needed adjusting.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he mumbled, his gaze still focused on her breasts. Probably worried she’d jump away and they’d lose the gear.

  “Then grab it already.” Because she didn’t know how much longer she could stand so close to him and not do something about the arousal simmering between her legs.

  “Don’t rush me. It’s tiny. One wrong move and it might drop.”

  “You didn’t seem this worried when you flipped it into the air.”

  “Because I would have caught it if you hadn’t interfered.”

  “Me?”

  They argued with his hand up her shirt, and yet she had no urge to move. On the contrary, she enjoyed the feel of his calloused fingers sliding between her breasts. Pity the gear hadn’t landed on a nipple. She almost shook her head at the train of thought.

  “Got it,” he said, and yet his hand remained against her flesh.

  The pulse between her legs quickened. She stared at his mouth, only to realize he caught her.

  Their eyes met, the brilliance of his blue mechanical one offset by the beauty of his green organic orb. His face familiar, rugged and square, his jaw unshaven, his mouth…

  Moving toward hers.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  Which would change everything!

  Ursy thrust herself away from him, and his hand tangled in her shirt.

  “What are you doing?” he barked, reeling the fist clenched around the gear.

  “Getting away from you. I didn’t realize you were looking for an excuse to grope me.”

  “An excuse?” He gaped at her. “I was trying to make sure we didn’t lose this.” He held up the tiny golden cog.

  “While copping a feel.”

  “You think awfully high of yourself if you think I’m desperate enough to use that as an excuse. In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t lack for companionship in port.”

  She sneered. “Whore.”

  “Shrew.”

  They traded barbs, and she wondered how they’d gone from almost kissing to this.

  Because of me. She’d been the one to draw away. To worry that one kiss would lead to another and…then what?

  She moved away from him, stating, “I need to ensure we’re still on course.”

  And then she needed to get her head checked. Maybe find a gear to get her mind on the right track. She’d given up on her crush on Wulff a long time ago. Now wasn’t the time to start fantasizing again.

  “What should I do with the gear?” he asked.

  “Keep it for now. It’s probably safer with you than on my ship once we hit port.” She didn’t turn back to look at him, rather sauntered away to the cockpit, wishing he’d whirl her around and finish what he almost started.

  Hating herself for still harboring that hope after all these years.

  4

  “There is nothing more magical than finding a partner whose gears mesh with yours. Bu
t always remember to keep everything greased.” – The Mighty Mecha Bible

  Wulff almost kissed Ursy. Almost kissed her like a man kissed a sexual partner and not his sister.

  What the frukx ailed him? He’d never had this issue before. Never looked at her and noticed the luminescent clarity of her skin. Or the way her breasts were outlined through the thin fabric of her top. Never gotten so hard it ached.

  Must be some kind of space madness. Or perhaps one of his gears had slipped a notch inside his body and caused him to feel things he just plain shouldn’t.

  Whatever the reason, he avoided Ursy for the next several full gear rotations, leaving her to pilot while he slept, taking over—without argument from her finally—so she could rest. Spending the bare minimum time talking to her, and really revising his idiotic decision to invite her to go to the Obsidian Market with him.

  Why had he done that? It wasn’t as if he needed her help. Wulff could hunt down gears perfectly fine on his own. He couldn’t even blame a lack of ship, given he’d purchased a new vessel and it currently sat in a spaceport awaiting his pickup.

  But instead of begging a ride from Zak or Ray, he chose to spend time with Ursy.

  Definitely a malfunctioning part. He’d have to schedule a visit to an engineer and have them check over his gears. Maybe give him an adjustment or a proper steaming to clean him out.

  Speaking of cleaning, he finished wiping the moisture from his skin from his shower. The Unicorn Bandit might not be one of the larger ships, but Ursy made room for a liquid reservoir that took dirty fluids and recycled them, meaning he could indulge in a daily shower. He exited the bathing chamber into the room with its single bed and a mess of her clothes. Tidiness being something Ursy didn’t ascribe to.

  He dropped the towel and grabbed his pants, only just yanking them over his hips when Ursy burst in. “Woofy, we need to—” She stopped and stared.

  “See something you like?” he drawled rather than draw his shirt over his head.

  “Nice gears,” she said, indicating the threesome of moving parts just barely embedded in the flesh over his rib cage.

  “Almost died getting them,” he admitted. The previous owner—a hoarder of mecha parts, who kept them in glass cases rather than taking them into his body for proper worship—had died. Rather than bequeath his treasure, the hoarder booby-trapped his home. Wulff counted himself lucky it only cost him an eye, and in a twist, his bionic one turned out to be more practical. Especially since he rarely needed to use goggles anymore.

  “What do they do?” she asked, stepping closer.

  She reached out, and he almost flinched. Almost. He couldn’t let her know how even a simple touch almost undid him.

  The close proximity had just about eradicated his self-control around her. If he didn’t get relief soon, he might end up on his knees begging her for mercy. Then he’d probably die because she’d shoot him down in a way that would shrivel whatever hope he had left.

  “Improved heart, lungs, and blood.” The always-moving cogs worked together to enhance his physical status.

  “They’re huge. I’ve got a set of five gears that do the same, but they’re half that size.”

  “Bigger is better,” he boasted.

  Her gaze dropped to a spot below his waist. “So I hear.”

  There existed a temptation to show her. Instead, he whirled around and took a moment to compose himself by dressing. “Any reason why you’re barging in during my time?”

  “According to the board, we’ll be arriving shortly at the market.”

  “Already?” He frowned as he turned, grabbing his belt, the one that included a pair of holsters for his guns, a sheath for his knife, and a few other tools.

  “The market moved.”

  “I forgot they’re not on a planet but a space station.”

  She grimaced. “Which means recycled air instead of fresh.”

  Filters did an excellent job purifying the air they breathed, and yet its very sterility made it unappealing. Nothing beat the scented whiff from the surface of a world ripe with life.

  “We should put in an order now before we dock for supplies and request a repair to the window of the cockpit.”

  “Already done. I sent out a coded request before I came to find you.” A tapping sequence of pings known universe-wide. It avoided the need to learn how to write in thousands of languages or have a computer on board. The translator cogs in their ears could only handle auditory input.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his almost knee-high boots. Their weight due to the magnetic properties of the soles. Handy when gravity suddenly disappeared and he wanted to avoid floating around like debris. “I assume you’ve already been assigned a docking berth.”

  “Yes. I’ll need you to guide me from the pressure chamber since I can’t see out the front.” In other words, she wanted him lying flat on his belly in that tiny room, face pressed to the small viewing window, shouting instructions.

  “You know, it’s time like these that getting an automated docking mechanism would be really handy,” he noted.

  “Until it decides to mutiny and evacuate us into space while we sleep.” Her grim reply.

  Not exactly far-fetched. It happened, and more often than space travellers cared to admit.

  The docking itself, despite its less than precise method, went without a hitch. Mostly, she needed to guide them close enough to the radiating spoke that held their berth number for the docking tractor beam to pull and clamp them in place.

  Once they were connected, a retractable tunnel would seal around their exit hatch, allowing them entry onto the space station itself.

  “Ready?” he asked, as he strapped on his weapons.

  Ursy did the same. No one ever went anywhere unarmed unless they wanted to be a victim. “If you get in trouble, don’t expect me to bail you out.”

  “I’m not the one who usually starts fights.” He finished them.

  “And no bringing any of your whores on board.”

  “Not even if I hang goggles outside the hatch door?” He couldn’t help but tease.

  She glared. “Feel free to not be aboard when I leave.”

  “I’m thinking about it,” he mumbled as she exited first.

  An official stood waiting for them, balanced on a single thick leg, electronic clipboard in hand, another holding a gun, yet a third balancing a tray with a welcoming drink while a fourth and fifth hand played a small instrument. The single eye on the official’s bulbous head stared and never blinked. Its mouth also never opened because a sixth hand provided a voice from the speaker embedded in the palm.

  “Welcome, travellers, to the Obsidian Market.”

  “Since when do you greet guests?” Wulff asked, the image of casual and yet well aware of the possible danger. If it threatened, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the asexual creature.

  “Given the market has had to relocate numerous times in a short period due to some unfortunate incidents, we thought it would be prudent to notify all travellers of a new market rule.”

  “Only one rule?” Ursy queried.

  The single eye still didn’t blink as it stared. “We found that overly complex instructions were misunderstood. Hence the return to a more simple narrative.”

  “And what is the one rule?”

  If possible, the hand with the speaking smirked. “No killing.”

  “That’s it?” Wulff queried. “What about stealing?”

  The creature shrugged two of its shoulders. “Don’t get caught. We won’t be held responsible for consequences.”

  “Let’s say, hypothetically, I stole something and was caught. Could I be killed then for the theft?” Ursy asked.

  “No.

  “What if I punched you in the eyeball?”

  “I would survive.”

  “And you wouldn’t kill me in retaliation?” she pushed.

  “No, but you might find yourself taken into custody and sold to a meat merchant.”
/>   “So a butcher is allowed to kill?”

  “No. You would first be transported elsewhere.”

  “What happens if you accidentally kill someone?” Wulff wondered aloud.

  The reply emerged flat. “You will be placed in custody and given to the heir of the being you killed to do with as they please.”

  “Fair enough. Thanks for your excellent explanation. And the wine.” He grabbed a fluted glass, downed the glowing pink contents, and smacked his lips. “Strong stuff.”

  Ursy eschewed the wine and scowled as they began their trek down the long docking arm, noticing the many doors leading to other berthed ships.

  “One rule. Who came up with that stupid idea? And what of a hearing? What if someone is framed for murder?”

  “You seem awfully upset. Were you planning to kill someone?” he asked.

  “No. But if the situation demands it…” She shrugged. “Sometimes I lose my temper.”

  For some reason that made him snicker. “You? Get angry? Never would have guessed.”

  “I don’t see why you think that’s so funny,” she grumbled.

  “I’ve known you since you were sucking your thumb and spitting out juccha mash. When aren’t you angry?”

  She stomped and hunched her shoulders in. “Keep going, Woofy. And I’ll say screw their rule and kill you right now.”

  “Murder me later. First, let’s find the drone that rumor has placed here.”

  “As if it’s still for sale. Your tip is old.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask around. Let’s meet back at the ship in what—a full turn of a minor cog? Two?” He turned back around in time to see her expression.

  “We’re not hunting down the God Gear piece together?” She held a puzzled frown.

  Not right this second they weren’t. He needed a bit of space from Ursy and time to do something about the turgid problem in his pants. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up. Unless you’re admitting you need my help.”

  Her lip curled into a sneer. “As if. You’d only get in my way.”